


Standing Naked Before You

by 1000Needles



Series: Hand Me My Leather [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 00:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9940178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000Needles/pseuds/1000Needles
Summary: Sequel toHand Me My Leather. Consensual D/s, including caning. No spoilers.





	

Ignis doesn't begin immediately.

It's the first time he's seen Gladio naked, and some things are not meant to be rushed.

He flexes his cane, watching the exquisite body posed before him like a statue, and is pleased by the symmetry. Since the first day in his office when Gladio's eyes widened to see the cane in his hands, he has envisioned that they would come full circle to this moment. Men are predictable. The tedious nature of that fact is offset by their nearly limitless quantities. Insomnia's nightlife contains an endless sea of needy faces: soldiers and aristocrats equal in their blustering, aching desire to be dominated by an angelic face in a sharp suit.

He takes his time to enjoy the picture before him, making Gladio wait, savoring the minute tremble in his limbs. Then he removes his jacket, hangs it over the chair, and rolls up his cuffs.

The first stripe lands on the fleshy part of Gladio's ass, bisecting it in a perfectly straight line that goes from white to red in an instant. The slap of the cane hitting flesh echoes in the room. Gladio is barely able to take a breath before the second strike lands, then the third and the fourth and the fifth. But he holds his position, bracing for the next blow.

"Very good," Ignis murmurs. "Take it like this until I'm finished." He meticulously brings up more marks, the swish of the cane and its impact cracking in the air, and Gladio grunts with each shot, twisting a little but maintaining his stance in a beautiful display of strength and discipline, lowering his head and groaning when caught with an especially strong blow. His cock is at half-mast, nicely awakened by the cane. Sweat appears on the back of his neck. He lets his breath out hard as each stroke comes across his ass.

Ignis moves lightly on his feet, the day's irritations melting from his mind as he continues to lay it on with steadily increasing force and rhythm. Each strike whistles and cuts in electric seconds. His aim shifts from Gladio's buttocks to the front of his thighs, lightning fast, with terrible accuracy. He watches with cool pleasure as the stoic facade falters. Gasps begin to break through, sharp breaths between clenched teeth.

No one can hold a pose like that forever, not even Gladiolus Amicitia. "Please," he says, breathless and clipped, and then his knees buckle and he falls to the floor. Ignis watches quietly as he struggles to his knees, wincing as sweat runs into his eyes. He isn't surprised that Gladio can take a caning like a soldier, but he is surprised by the words that come after. "Forgive me."

Gladio is kneeling up straight, back perfectly vertical, hands behind his back, head lowered. Only the tremble of thigh muscles betrays his exhaustion. "You held it longer than I expected. Sit back, you can rest your arms on your thighs." Ignis wipes the cane with a handkerchief and holds it for Gladio to kiss. This is usually the part where people cry, or beg for something more.

Gladio does as he's told, groaning as his welted ass settles back against his heels, and kisses the cane obediently when it is presented to his lips. He looks up. The naked need on his face is rather charming, and it almost makes Ignis drop his role and smile. Instead he slides his gloved hand across Gladio's jawline, tracing his lip with a bare thumb. "Curiosity satisfied?"

Gladio meets his eyes, which is unusual from someone in this position. "I want to serve you."

Even more unusual, albeit phrased with arrogance. Ignis steps back and waves the cane into non-existence. "You already serve the king. Why should you wish to serve me?"

Gladio hesitates. When Ignis turns away, he says quickly, "I don't know. I really don't."

"You express that frequently." Gladio is silent, his head lowered. More gently, Ignis says, "You're very natural, and fun to play with. But I'm a servant myself. I don't need a servant. And your skills are of limited use to me." The leather-covered palm of his hand returns to Gladio's jaw, and his thumb tugs gently at the lower lip.

"Let's see that famous tongue."

Gladio licks at the gloved fingers. They are rough, the thumb caressing his lip smooth. Ignis fucks his mouth with them, slowly, and Gladio sucks, breathing hard through his nose as Ignis fills him.

"Not bad. What else can you do?"

The response is garbled and unintelligible. "Oh, my mistake," Ignis says, and removes his fingers, wiping them deliberately on Gladio's cheek. "Let's try that again."

"I'm trained in survival skills," Gladio begins, visibly racing to come up with something useful. "I can tell you which wild plants are edible and which are poisonous. I— I can handle a shield with expertise. And I'm a good teacher. I've studied physical magic and therapeutic massage—"

This last tidbit catches Ignis's attention. He has been mentally planning a quick dismissal but admits instead, "I have been very tense of late."

The faintest quirk of a lip. "I noticed."

Ignis feels himself subtly outmaneuvered, and is impressed. He makes a new decision.

"Can you stand without help?"

Gladio struggles to his feet, stoically swallowing down any display of pain. "Yes, Ignis."

"Good. Follow me."

It's a change of plan, but Ignis doesn't mind revising strategy on the fly. Emotional masochists are the most delicious toys to play with. Give them attention or leave them alone. Either way they love it, and they hate it, and they always come back for more.

 

LOADING

 

"Do you _live_ here?"

"Yes," Ignis says, shutting the door behind them. He points at the bed. "Lie face down, please."

Gladio obeys, feeling confused. His family has a suite of rooms hardly less grand than the king's. Why does Ignis live in this closet adjoining his office? There's a fireplace, but no windows; an overstuffed armchair and a narrow wardrobe; and a table next to the bed, which is crowded with books. That's it. He's trying to read the book spines when Ignis pushes his head back down to his folded arms.

"Manners."

"Sorry," Gladio says, not really meaning it. He's feeling giddy and high now from the beating. Gladio just loves smart men, and Ignis is definitely that. He wants to know what he's reading. He wants to curl up next to him and watch the pages turning. He wants— He flinches and yelps as a hand settles on his ass. Ignis traces his fingers over the slashed series of thin, angry lines, glowing with heat, and summons magic to his fingertips. The air goes hazy with blue. Gladio makes a small noise of protest.

"Don't worry, I'm not healing them. Just a little ice."

It's a bare touch of Blizzard on his skin, enough to take the edge off the pain. Ignis slaps his flank lightly.

"Roll over." He helps prop him upright against the pillows, applies more ice to the lines on the front of his thighs, pours a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. Gladio sips, surprised to find his throat dry and sore; had he been that loud? He'd been trying to impress Ignis with perfect silence, but towards the end he had been very close to— His cock stirs at the memory and then, embarrassingly, surges to full mast. Ignis, fully clothed, has poured himself something stronger than water and is sitting opposite the bed in the armchair, regarding him like some kind of specimen.

"I'd better get back to my room," he mumbles.

"Really? So early?" Ignis tilts the glass in his hand, the amber liquid swirling inside, his eyes fixed on Gladio's.

"I— I should take care of this." His cheeks are burning. He makes a move to get up, but stops at Ignis's slow, calm, caressing voice.

"I'd like to watch. Back against the wall, facing me, please; spread your legs. Yes, that's right. Now show me how you get yourself off, Gladio."

The sheets feel rough on his welted skin. He's sweating, heart beating so fast he swears he can hear it. He strokes his cock, back and forth, pulling at the skin. The firelight glints off Ignis's glasses, his face utterly unreadable. It's hard to concentrate on the usual images, so he goes back to the caning, Ignis in his impeccable suit, the sting of each blow, the moment he fell, the gloved fingers in his mouth…

He shoots his orgasm up before he knows he's coming. Warmth splatters his hand and belly. He lets his head fall back against the wall, utterly spent, and distantly hears Ignis say, "Good boy," as he tosses him a towel.

He must have fallen asleep somewhere between cleaning himself up and Ignis dropping a blanket over his body. He wakes in the night and lifts his head to see him still curled in the armchair, reading by the light of the fire. "Don't you ever sleep?" he murmurs.

"Go back to sleep, Gladio." And when he wakes again to a cold room, he thinks maybe it was just a dream. There's no sign of Ignis. He finds his clothes where he left them folded on the couch in the office. Since he's known for running around the palace in all states of undress, it won't be too obviously a walk of shame. Gladio sighs. He would have at least liked to say good morning.

The day passes in its usual flurry of activity: training exercises with the prince, a meeting with his father and the king to discuss palace security, some time in the chocobo stables with his favorite mount. He skips his usual ride, mindful of the bruising he can feel beneath his trousers. Then a quick bite after work with Iris, who wants to read him her school essay about advances in agricultural technology, and a word with Jared about the recent incursion of mice. When he finishes his workout that night, he's glad it's so late. He's alone in the showers.

He strips down and looks at himself in the mirror. The marks are still plain. He gets in the shower, turns the water on, and can't help touching one of the lines on his thigh, wincing. His fingers move to his ass and find the slender welts the cane left, especially the one where Ignis hit him twice in the same place. They ache slightly when he presses on them, itching a little. The memory of holding the position, and Ignis circling, talking in that low voice, makes him instantly hard, but he pauses before taking himself in hand. Then, with iron discipline, he begins soaping his shoulders.

He isn't sure whether he's expected back again so soon that night, and there hasn't been an explicit invitation, but he feels it would be worse to stay away if Ignis needed him. Ignis always seems tense—in fact, the only time he's seemed truly relaxed so far has been after elegantly beating the shit out of Gladio—but in the past days, working together, he's picked up hints that things are not going well. The truce, which had seemed so hopeful when negotiations began, is no closer now than it was months ago, and while Gladio doesn't typically get pulled into political complexities, Ignis seems to be intricately involved.

He squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath before knocking. Whatever Ignis needs, even if it's just filing, he's willing to offer his services.

It turns out to be just filing.

 

LOADING

 

The Kingsglaives have been bitching about Gladio being too good to hang out with them anymore, so when Nyx says he's headed for the tavern, Gladio goes with him. It's a warm day for Insomnia, and their beers can't hold a chill for more than halfway through the glass, unless Gladio drinks faster than he prefers.

Ignis is at the bar, picking up a to-go order: for the prince, probably. He's all leather today, leather pants and leather jacket, with some godawful gaudy shirt underneath that implausibly looks fantastic on him.

"Are you fucking him?"

Gladio wrenches his attention back to Nyx. "What? No, man! He’s as cold as ice."

"Ice can be fun. And useful." Nyx waggles his fingers at his glass, and crystals form. He takes a sip. "Ah, that's better. You're definitely fucking him with your eyes, though."

Gladio snorts. "I'd rather take a midgardsormr to bed."

Ignis turns his head; he's too far to hear any of this, and the tavern is loud, but Gladio's embarrassed. He's being an asshole. It isn't Ignis's fault that he's so sexually frustrated he could pound nails with his dick.

"Never heard you complaining about too many snakes in the bed."

"Oh, shut up."

Gladio, who considers most members of the royal palace to be personal friends, who is pleased to be on first-name acquaintance with everyone from the cleaning staff to the chocobo grooms, watches Ignis carry away the bags of food and wonders for the first time: Is he _lonely?_

That night, when Ignis stops in the middle of reading a report and drops his tablet to the desk, rolling his neck, Gladio lifts his eyes hesitantly from the cabinet and says, "Could I give you a massage, Ignis?"

He still wants to say _sir._ It catches behind his tongue, trying to force its way out.

Ignis pauses, his fingers on his temples. "I still have to finish these…" His voice trails off. "Yes, thank you, I would like that."

Gladio realizes it's a mark of how tired he is, and he rises swiftly to follow into the other room, where Ignis strips off his shirt without further comment. Gladio is used to receiving attention when he takes his own shirt off. His glorious tattoo, the wings that span his back, the claws that extend down, the cruel beak that teases one nipple, never fails to draw worship from even the most jaded leather daddies. For this reason, he's rarely impressed by others. Ignis surprises him. That's one hell of a well-developed chest for such a lanky guy. His pecs are firm, and Gladio can see the start of some nice cutting down his body. But he can't afford a lingering examination right now; Ignis is waiting.

"If you lie down," he says carefully, "I'll begin. I brought oils."

"Did you?" Ignis arranges his long, narrow body on the bed, face down. "How optimistic you are." He stretches both arms over his head. Gladio kneels on the bed next to him and warms the oil in his palms. He begins in the center of Ignis's back, working his way out, across his broad shoulders. He's amazed at the little details that suddenly seem so erotic: the fine golden hairs on the backs of his hands and up his sinewy forearms, and the angular line of his jaw, his face turned towards Gladio, the long lashes lying on pale skin. Ignis is quietly cooperative, allowing Gladio to rearrange his limbs to reach deep into the muscle, digging out the knots of tension with slow, patient rhythm.

When he reaches the line of Ignis's trousers, he pauses and gathers his courage to speak. "Would you like— could I—"

Ignis opens his eyes.

"I'm far more pleased by your submission and desire to be of service than anything else you can offer. But thank you for asking. Good night, Gladio."

 

LOADING

 

He finds his late evenings falling into a weirdly comfortable pattern of office work and chaste massage. Despite his hopes, Ignis seems no closer with his naked skin beneath Gladio's fingers than he does on the other side of the room, ignoring Gladio in favor of increasingly dire reports from the border.

One night, Gladio lingers later than usual, rubbing the leftover oil into his elbows, and his eyes fall on the book at the top of the stack by the bed. It's _Cosmogony,_ the collection of tales that every child knows. Without thinking, he picks it up.

"Bedtime stories?"

Ignis has rolled onto his back, one trouser-clad leg stretched long on the bed, the other pulled up. "Not really." His voice is drowsy, his body limp from the massage. "My eyes get tired, staring at screens all day. I haven't even opened it."

With great daring, Gladio says softly, "Could I read it to you?"

Ignis yawns and stretches his arms over his head, cradles them behind his skull. "Certainly. That would be nice." His lids are already drooping, and Gladio has a sudden flash of memory of the small child who used to follow the prince around when they were only seven or eight years old. How odd that it took them this long to be alone in the same room together, and how odd that after all these years he would feel his heart lifting with delight to be allowed to read to him.

He settles down in the armchair. "It is said that, in the beginning, the six fought side by side…"

The nightly reading becomes a habit of theirs. He begins to feel like the condemned wife in the fairy tale who draws out her lover's attention with nightly stories that interest him so much he spares her life simply to hear more. Or maybe he's like a knight in a fairy tale, serving by surrendering. It's intoxicating, watching Ignis sink deeper into the bed, lulled by his steady voice, but it's not enough. It's never enough. And the self-enforced chastity is oppressive. After a few weeks of it, he feels like his nuts are going to explode. He sleeps on his belly, and wakes in the dark to find himself moaning in the early morning hours, pushing his ass up, his dick as hard as a rail, his hands clutching the pillow.

 

LOADING

 

It's another night like all the others. He arrives in the office and drops to his knees. Ignis hands him a stack of paperwork and tells him to get on with it. He must be doing an adequate job of hiding his frustration, because Ignis favors him with a ruffle of his hair and a murmured, "Good boy," as he passes. This time, though, he can't hold back the moan that rises to his lips, and he bows his head in utter humiliation.

Ignis tangles his fingers into Gladio's hair and tugs his head back so he can stare right into his face, looking amused. "You aren't usually this responsive. What's gotten into you?"

He feels the color rising to his face and can't think of a lie before the truth spills out. "I haven't— I didn't know if I should come without your permission. So I, um, I haven't. Since your room."

"How charming." The gloved hand releases his hair, slides down to caress his cheek. "I seem to have acquired a romantic."

Gladio can't find the words to respond. He gives up, closes his eyes, and relaxes into submission. The fingers curl into his hair again.

"We're going to have fun tonight. You've been waiting for this for months, haven't you?" In the pause that follows, Ignis's fingers tighten, and Gladio jerks awake.

"Yes. Yes, please!"

"Come on, then."

Gladio struggles to his feet and follows.

The little room is almost unbearably warm. Gladio stands, awkwardly, between the bed and the fireplace. Ignis takes the armchair and pours himself a whiskey. The moment stretches out until Gladio can't stand it.

"Should I—"

"You talk too much," Ignis says, "and about the wrong things. Why don't you tell me what you want?"

"Your cane," Gladio says quickly.

Ignis smiles and waves his hand lazily, and there it is again, in a flash of blue.

"Not curiosity, this time. Why do you keep coming back, Gladio?"

His head jerks up in a flash of temper. "I don't know! Why do you keep inviting me? You want me— I know you do— and all you do is push me away! Why won't you let me—"

"Let you _what,_ Gladio?" His voice is a velvet curl of command in the sweltering room. "Do you want to fuck, or do you want to serve? They aren't at all the same thing, you know."

Gladio is breathing fast, his head spinning. All these years trawling leather bars, all the daddies he's played with, no one has ever managed to mess with his head like this. He wonders, for the millionth time, what the fuck is wrong with him, and finally he says, "I'm sorry."

Ignis strokes the smooth, flexible rod.

"And if I called you to formal manners, you wouldn't hesitate, would you? You'd hit the floor so fast, you'd bruise your knees. And it would be a relief, wouldn't it?"

There's only one response to that. Gladio drops to his knees, hard, and Ignis sighs in something that sounds like appreciation. "Come closer and tell me what you need."

Gladio takes a deep breath and crawls forward, until he's as close as he dares, Ignis's curious, cold eyes following his every move. When he's there, at his feet, he stops and gathers his thoughts.

"Since I was a child, I knew I was born to serve," he begins. "I serve the king. I serve the prince. I serve Lucis."

"But that's not enough, is it?"

Here it is, the immense secret that Gladio has been circling around for so long. "It's not! It's never enough. I thought I could find what I wanted in the leather bars." He swallows thickly. Something has changed in the atmosphere of the room; the air feels suddenly electric between them. "But it's all games, it's all shallow and silly and I knew it all along, I couldn't admit it to myself until I— until you— and I realized—"

"What you really need," Ignis prompts, softly.

"I need to serve. Really serve. I need to serve you." He can barely get the words out.

When he manages to look up, Ignis is smiling.

"Strip," he says, and the invitation in his voice is so warm that Gladio's whole body sings with joy.

After last time, the sensation of being arranged on the bed for Ignis's purpose is absolutely decadent. When Gladio presents his ass for the beating, nothing binding him but obedience, his cock is achingly hard, and without being asked he spreads his knees even wider. The first impact is more of a kiss than a strike. The heat of it, right across the center of the curve of his ass, sinks in and he shivers, a long shudder that works from his shoulders down through his legs. Then another, and the familiar warmth spreads through his ass, the strokes slowly becoming more intense. Each strike drives the breath from him and makes him see stars. He has endured heavier floggings, but never one so thorough, so precisely controlled.

"Don't forget to breathe," Ignis reminds him softly, between strokes.

This time, the blows settle into a pattern. It's a not a savage caning, savage isn't the right word; it's icy and precise. He hears the whistle of the cane only a moment before the stinging rod strikes. Each stripe feels like a line of fire across his buttocks. Ignis flicks the cane through the air, and it bites into his thighs. When Gladio begins to gasp, falling forward, twisting his body away from the pain, Ignis pauses, allows him to rest, and then starts again. It's maddening, but he needs only the slightest brush of Ignis's hand on his head to make him moan with pleasure. And then Ignis stops.

"You're taking this well. Do you like the way it feels?"

Once again, Gladio cannot answer.

"This is supposed to be a reward," Ignis says gently. "If you're enjoying it, perhaps you should try offering some form of gratitude."

"I—" Gladio's voice catches. "How can I thank you?"

"By saying so." Ignis draws his arm back and delivers a sharp strike. Gladio jerks his head up and hisses in pain, sweet and hot.

"Oh! Yes! Thank you!"

"That's more like it." He covers Gladio's ass with stripes, and Gladio arches his back, begging for more. The cane caresses his muscles and Gladio shivers with appreciation. Ignis gives it a bit more speed on the next round, landing each line with precision. Gladio's eyes are closed, his lips parted in a series of inarticulate cries, mixed with sincere, simple thanks.

"Good boy." Ignis runs his fingers over the beaten flesh and Gladio hisses with pleasure. He moans and thrusts his hips up again, and Ignis laughs. "You like that, too?"

Gladio silently counts each stroke, each explosion of pain. They land in precise formation, covering him from the top of his ass to the backs of his thighs. It feels like pain, but as the radiance builds, it becomes a thunderous bliss. He relaxes into the rhythm of the beating and lets the sensation carry him away. He squirms, and jumps, and stops trying to anticipate an end to it, and even the feeling of the individual blows is lost as the heat engulfs him. Ignis stops and he gulps in air, almost sobbing for breath.

"Thank you," he says, when he can speak. Then he realizes that Ignis has taken his shirt off at some point during their play, and his eyes widen. He can never get over how Ignis transforms as he sheds his layers. But most surprising of all, as Ignis unfastens his pants, is what those beautiful abs lead down to, a big fat dick that Gladio aches to take into his mouth.

"I believe we are long overdue for this, wouldn't you agree?" And to Gladio's utter surprise, Ignis winks at him flirtatiously.

It's what he's been thinking of since that encounter in the leather bar, if he's honest with himself, it's what he's been teasing and tormenting himself with every night, and it's all he can do not to throw himself at Ignis's feet and give him the best goddamned blowjob of his life. But instead he looks up at him through his lashes and says, "Yes, Ignis." And he puts every ounce of meaning that he can into those two words.

Ignis snaps his fingers and kicks off his pants, settling into the armchair. "Then come here and put that pretty mouth of yours to some use."

Getting himself down from the bed and crawling across the rug hurts, but it's worth it once he's between those long legs, spread just for him. He lavishes attention on Ignis's balls, licking them up and down and back and forth. Gladio gently sucks one into his mouth and is rewarded with a delightful sound he hasn't heard from Ignis before, soft and longing. With great daring, he extends his tongue up behind the balls as far as he can and feels Ignis's hips jerk. Oh, yes, he thinks. I can do this for you. He nibbles the loose flesh and moves up to take his cock between his lips, massaging the head with his tongue, letting his breath wash over it. As Gladio draws his tight, wet lips along the shaft, Ignis begins to pant. Then he takes the whole cock in, eating him alive from the crown on down, and Ignis thrusts his hips forward as Gladio pulls his head back and sucks his way down to the base again. He feels fingers curling tightly in his hair, pushing him deeper. He breathes hard through his nose as Ignis sets a fast pace, driving his cock against the back of Gladio's throat, and he relinquishes control, letting his face be used, offering himself willingly, until Ignis's orgasm hits with such force that he almost loses his balance, but keeps sucking until the insistent fingers finally relax and his cheek drops to rest against a soft, warm thigh.

He's pushed back onto his heels as Ignis stands.

"You'll sleep on the floor." Ignis hands him a blanket. "Do not get up without permission. Do not leave. I'll speak to you in the morning. Do you understand?"

Gladio finds the strength to nod. He watches silently as Ignis cleans himself up, gets into bed, and tosses him a pillow.

"Thank you," he whispers, his voice hoarse.

"Go to sleep," Ignis says, and turns out the light.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks and deep appreciation to [Sekiei](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sekiei) for editing expertise and advice.


End file.
